


A Forgotten Story

by AwkwardDuckProducktions



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Justice for Regulus, all sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 19:38:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10543188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardDuckProducktions/pseuds/AwkwardDuckProducktions
Summary: A letter Sirius reads after Kreacher gives it over one day while hiding in his old home, from his little brother.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Most of this was written in the dead of might but I am a masochist who hates sleeping.

My story was isn't meant for everyone's eyes. Like the lost chapters of the bible, my story remains forgotten or hidden.

It began with a mother, a father, and a brother. We came from an old family of wizards, blood pure of imperfections and the none magical type. I never understood the reason behind keeping marriages within the family tree to ensure purity, but that's not how my story goes.  
My mother was a frightening woman, loud and violent like an apocalyptic storm. She refused to be wrong, as my brother and I learned very early on. But how ever frightening my mother was, my father was twice as foreboding. He was like the saints carved into the entrance of Notre Dame, glaring down at you, waiting for you to confess. He worked in the Ministry of Magic and would come home silently waiting for an excuse to take his anger out on us. The people I instinctively trusted and respected did not earn it, but took it by force. The only person who earned my trust and respect was my brother.  
He was a wild card. An assassin to "the Black family name," according to my mother. A "disgrace and a burden," said my father. To me, he was my brother. More times than not, he would place the blame on himself to save me pain. He would sneak me food when I wasn't allowed any. He would help me through the worst of nights. My brother was there for me when others weren't. Not only did he earn my respect and my trust, he earned my love.  
Being a Black requires a certain attitude. Somewhere between "I own the world" and "the world owes me." I got the idea before my brother did. The advantage of being the younger sibling is that you get to learn from your older sibling's mistakes. He, unfortunately, was a fighter. Which is odd to say of a six year old skinnier than a twig. But, nonetheless, he was cursed with the heart of a lion in a family of belly crawling snakes. And I was no different. But my acts of rebellion were the cruelest of kinds. "Change comes from within," our uncle whispered to us. He saw us as the ones to return the family name to good esteem. But centuries of wrong does not get forgiven by two young boys, dear uncle. I did only three acts of rebellion:  
1\. I helped my brother  
2\. I never married  
3\. I killed The Dark Lord

By the time I was accepted into Hogwarts, the fault between my parents and my brother was too steep to walk over. Interactions with him were done so in secret. In lost tunnels and hidden rooms, I would inform him of family business. The purebloods are a close knit interweaving web of incest and general assholery. There were spies at Hogwarts, waiting for me to slip up so they could run off and tell my mother. "The apple doesn't fall far the tree," they mis-threatened. My family is so self absorbed that they don't know basic things like literature and the maths. They're magical; they're above it. I had to study in secret, reading the classics and trying to understand geometry. My story is full of secrets.  
When I was under the Sorting Hat, a deep part of me wished it would call Gryffindor. Together, my brother and I could make my uncle's dreams true. But I am not brave, I am cunning. I hated that word. Cunning, like the devil snake that tricked Adam and Eve out of paradise. Having a house being described as cunning is setting them up for dislike by others. If the Slytherin house was known for its determination (the third descriptive word for us), I feel other houses wouldn't look down at us so much. That and the whole "anyone who isn't a pureblood is ostracized and sometimes bullied" within the house being eradicated. We're determined and loyal to those we love. My bravery comes from my determination. I am a Slytherin through and through.  
At Hogwarts, I could be with my brother. At home however, was a different story. I was the one to continue the twisted legacy of the Black family. Every minute became a lesson. Every lesson was designed to make me heartless and uncaring to those not like my family. I was separated from my brother so his radical ideas would destroy my parents' hard work. Sometimes, they would force me to watch them hurt my brother. Other times, they make me do it. If I was born in a non-magical family, this would be considered abuse. Alas half of the magical justice system power lives in my home. I tried to talk to Dumbledore about it, but he's too busy to be concerned with the safety of his students. Plus, he never really cared for Slytherins. We're too cunning to lose control. ~~I never had control! I never asked for this life! You gave me a job! My parents gave me nightmares! My family sold my soul and you made me your spy! You said you would protect my brother! You're more of a Slytherin than I will ever be!~~

I'm sorry.  
Emotions are going haywire now. I'm dying, slowly. Painfully. Good thing I never gave a rat's ass about tomorrow. Tomorrow was just a next step in the plan. Never about feelings or hopes or dreams. If it had been, my story would have either not ended so soon or too soon.  
Our foolish uncle died, maybe from the hands of our parents or not. His death gave me the opportunity to save my brother. My parents left for the funeral, dressed for the occasion but their eyes spoke something different. I stayed behind in preparation of the ceremony that night. My soul would be given to The Dark Lord and I was to be branded like cattle. My brother didn't want to join the Death Eaters, but an unconscious man can't make a scene. He laid in the corner, wrists bounded to the bed's leg. Lacerations decorated his body like a Pollock painting from what I could see. He was breathing, but each came farther and farther apart. An old Black technique, keep them barely alive until it was time then revive them. I casted a healing spell on the minor wounds. If he woke, my entire plan would fail. Placed him inside the fireplace with a small bag of his things. How lucky he is to have friends outside these walls. How even luckier to receive mail from friends, makes flooing him easier. I didn't say goodbye, couldn't risk him hearing me. I sent him to the Potters. They loved him as a family should. They would care for him. They did care for him. He was never meant to be in my story, but I'm glad he was. My story continued without him by my side when I got the Death Mark. When my parents returned, they found an empty room and a smoldering fire in the fireplace. I burned the letters from his friends. If our parents had any inkling of his whereabouts outside of Hogwarts, he would have been killed. My mother stormed into the kitchen and accused me of helping him escape. She grabbed me by the hair and tossed me to the ground. "He has the ceremony tonight, dear." My father reminded her. So I took my brother's place, bounded to the bed waiting in silence for the night.  
Me and Lucius, the pride and joy of the Black and Malfoy. We were only pawns to The Dark Lord, to be used and discarded. He was there that night. Dressed in black robes with a ring on his finger. I would see that ring again. He gave us the mark. His fingers like ice gripping my wrist. I bore the mark for the rest of my life, how ever short it is. Obsessive thoughts filed my head that night. _Who made him in charge? Was my brother being fed? Why does he need us if he is so powerful? Were my brother's wounds being cared for? Can The Dark Lord do as he promises? Was my brother safe? Why does he hate non-purebloods so much if he himself is one? Will my brother ever be safe?_ The last question ran through my head when I headed back to Hogwarts. I could see him across the platform. His eyes sunken and red from fear. Black hair in a loose braid swung with his head as he frantically searched the platform. I ducked in before he could see me. He couldn't see the tears I hid, his brotherly instincts would kick in. It was my turn to protect him. That's why I offered to help Dumbledore and to work as an inside man within the Death Eaters. He agreed to ensure my brother's safety. I should have known better than to trust him. He lied and used me. He's as bad as The Dark Lord. My brother will never be safe. He's the first Black without a murder to haunt him. I fucked up my best friend, putting his life in the hands of Dumbledore. I fucked up his chapter in my story. I...

Marriage is an important part of life for purebloods. Ours are arranged to keep the line clean. After I forced...him... away, I took his designated wife. But I can be certain that the Black family line ends with me. No more killers. No more abuse. No more Black family. My corpse will be far too rotten before my wedding day. That's the only thing I have yo look for in these last days.

Among the Death Eaters, lineage is everything. I was picked to work closely with The Dark Lord for my "natural talent with numbers." Lucius could have had my job, I believe, if Hogwarts actually taught the maths. Then again, I also believe a grade school child from a government funded school could have done it.  
I was his shadow. My original plan was to gain his trust then slit his throat, but I quickly learned that wasn't going to work. He had managed to divide himself up seven seven times to assure immorality. But us humans weren't designed to live forever. Understanding the truth was a key lesson taught by my parents, who now reside in hell (of my doing, they will never tell.) So working with Dumbledore, I made a list of all known horcruxes. Before he would get an update, I would get one also. But mine were about my brother. The old headmaster told me how to destroy them, but cleverly left out the part where they will destroy me in turn. A snake of a man eating his own tail to take care of loose ends. I wonder, in a humorless way, if Ablus is actually a Black. He has the signature "I own the world and the world owes me" attitude.  
I don't know why I'm still writing. Kreacher is gone along with the horcrux. It's just me, the lost ones in the waters, and the poisonous trap. Couldn't really destroy one. For a heartless killer, I am oddly susceptible the horrors in this trap. Though the horcrux isn't here, still I drink. How many tales end with the two lovers drinking to their deaths? How awful it must feel to be The Dark Lord but to be killed by an idea from muggles. Reading is fundamental and sometimes deadly. The Dark Lord isn't the only one who can make horcruxes. The poison in me is in him as well. He is weak and that scares him. He will soon strike. There's a prophesy that speaks of a child that will kill The Dark Lord. His insides are melting, or at least feel like they are. I will continue to drink until he is dead. I killed The Dark Lord essentially. Made him weak enough to be killed at least. A Slytherin that became a hero. I owe myself that much. A title that I chose, a hero.  
Not a Black.  
_Not a brother._  
Not a Death Eater.  
_Not a friend._

But a hero. I like that. One that history will forget, but one all the same. Maybe my uncle's dreams weren't so foolish. I wonder if he will welcome me. I wonder if my brother will ever forgive me. I wonder too much for someone on their last page. But I can't help it. All my life, I had been working on this cunning plan and here it is. Far from anyone, physically and emotionally. The Slytherin who had half a brain to think for himself! People won't remember me. They won't know my body will rot down in this godforsaken cave.

My story ends here with a pen in hand and thoughts of tomorrow.


End file.
